Dissemblance of the king
by blubrd
Summary: Life is a struggle, a constant battle to keep death away. Wouldn't it just be easier to take a short cut? This is Fionna's job, making shortcuts for the poor, delivering the poverty stricken woman to the upper class, where life can become a dream or hell takes you down and you never see the light of day. She never knew the consequences until she experienced them.


I had been in the same position for more than an hour, my lower back was cramped and my stomach begged for food that I didn't have. But I was not leaving this position until I made a choice. I recorded everything and anything I could get from each trashy magazine, newspaper and blog I could get, the dirt on every single candidate. The sun was setting, signaling my procrastination in making the choice.

The job wasn't something I took pride in; it was a half way job. At least that was what Cake called it, because it only worked half way.

The thought was followed by an ache, similar to home sickness and losing a loved one, it wrenched my gut and anxiety crawled up my throat. If Cake were here she would be peering over my shoulder and suggesting different outcomes of certain men, or approving or disapproving my choice of partners, during the last few months together I had gotten a nod of approval on every single one.

That was nine months, three weeks, and four days ago, a quick check to my wrist watch and, in three seconds it would be nine months, three weeks, four days, and twelve hours. I missed her so much; I had begun to talk to myself, as if Cake were there. I was going crazy, I was never alone, I had always had cake at my side and now with her gone, I was in constant solitude. I turned my gaze to the papers, my mind still dwelling on the memories of my sister, it was as if I was mourning her although she was still alive.

She would be so disappointed in me, stalling to make a final choice when the customer would be here in minutes. I pushed my thoughts away and focused on the papers splayed around me. There was information on three people, men to be exact.

The ranged from early thirties to late twenties. They were handsome I suppose, but they all had the bland indifferent look in their eyes, they had been born for a specific purpose, political or not. They were raised thinking that their only purpose as a human was to work under their father on whatever he wished.

Each looked so different, but they acted the same. Everyone seemed to be a cookie-cut from the same roll of political dough.

I glanced at the profile of the girl I was working with, twenty three pretty enough, her nose was a little small and her teeth were tinted yellow, not enough to be repulsive but enough to make her smile less.

I matched her answers to the survey she did, also with the test I gave her, it was a simple way of testing her IQ through harmless questions.

Every magazine clip had been read and I had done the biggest background search on each candidate, I would pick the less likely to kill her, give the girl his profile and send her on her merry way.

I was stuffing a manila envelope with all the paper clippings I had dug up. I checked to make sure the little pink slip was in. I stuffed the same paper notice in every manila envelope, warning her of everything that could go wrong, the seven laws were printed on the back, along with the explanation of why the seven laws were in place, the same trash that the government fed us.

As I packed everything about the candidate in the envelope I heard a knock on the door. Anxiety prickled through me as it usually did at every knock at the door or rustle of footsteps past my little shanty.

What I did wasn't exactly legal. I checked my wrist watch and hissed a sigh of relief; the girl was right on time. No cops here to take me away, not yet at least. I strode to the door in one stride; I swung it open enough to barely let the girl in.

Like i said, pretty enough, uglies didn't get into the program, no wants an ugly wife. I gave her the package that held her future; giving her the protocol speech that everyone got who left with an envelope.

I looked her straight in the eyes, instead of a solemnness there was a giddy childlike excitement that bounced around in her pupils.

Unlike most girls who came to my aid, the ones who were only here to save their starving family, this one was here to find a husband.

"Please," I said, my voice softened from the monotone. "Be safe, and be careful. Do not believe a word he says. They're all liars and cheats. Think about what you're doing really hard before you get swept up into that life."

She nodded, not really paying attention, already sweeping through the notes. She handed me my money, seven dollars and seventy cents. I could live off it for two weeks if I picked the food and supplies I needed carefully.

She turned and left me to my miserable shanty be myself, I watched her walk away, a little bounce in her step. I shook my head at the stupid girl, what was her name again, terry or maybe tammy. It didn't really matter; I sat back down at the desk, just another day at the office. Hopefully she would have enough sense to stay home and find a less rich husband and stay down here, where she was safe. If this job wasn't the source of my food I would never had even considered the possibility of doing this.

I shut my door and locked all the locks, night was approaching and who knew what liked to crawl around in the dark. I had a better house than most, made of sheet metal that was bolted together, in some places it was welded; the door was heavy steel that I had dug up one day at the burning pit, the metal kept any intrudes doing their way with me and stealing all my stuff. Like I said I was lucky, my house could be made from boxes.

The floor was dirt, as if I could afford a rug, any taken off the scrap pile was likely to be ridden with fleas, scabies or any little nasty that ate your skin. Plus once you got them you couldn't un-got them, a total bummer if you wanted to live past forty, maybe thirty five.

I walked over to my bed; it was on the other side of my house. Although I was fortunate to have a metal house, it was no mansion, if I stretched my hands hit the ceiling and I could cross the width of the house in three paces. My bed was a mess of blankets and pillows, bought with the money left over from a job.

I slid down to my bed, flopping on it will only give you a bruised back. I let sleep take me hoping for a dreamless night.

I woke up with a start, as I always did. I rolled out of bed, in my same clothes as last night, my shoes still on; the only thing that I took off was my hat. Sewn onto it were little bunny ears. They poked strait up, although one was bending slightly to the left. The color was more grey than white after using it for so long.

The hats had animal features sewn onto them, cat ears, bunny ears; they were all a symbol of poverty and kept the Fleas from mingling with the new Yorkers. It was also a way to protect your scalp from little parasites.

The Yorkers had given the name Fleas to the people who lived in my area. So Fleas we became and will probably be for life. The Yorkers found it funny because we were impossible to get rid of and we bred faster than the bugs we were named after, totally hilarious.

I shuffled over to my lair; pulling out my other files. Coming up with old recycled info, a big grin slapped across my face. I was low on my supplies, it was time to leave the cave and get some new Intel.

I brushed my teeth; I was adamant to getting yellow teeth and brushed three times a day, ever since Cake… I avoided the thought. I had become a little o.c.d about everything. My work had been going well due to my need for perfection. Very little error was allowed any more, it was like my body perfected before my mind got to the process.

Unlocking my door I slipped out of my house and into the street.

I dodged the everyday bustle of the Flea's, people with places to be and money to make rushed past. Others who had nothing to do but watch their bodies deteriorate stayed out of the way or groveled at the feet of the more fortunate. I hated the ones that begged I could never say no.

I knew what it was like to grovel for a crumb, I had been there before. I tucked my head down further, I scurried through the streets. I wasn't well liked down here, everyone had loved Cake but I seemed to rub everyone the wrong way. It probably had to do with my demeanor. I was no longer the child of the sun from when I was a kid, but a suspicious cunning woman who could see through any lie.

I no longer sang with the few birds that harbored are sad town; I no longer romped on endless adventures with my sister at my side. I didn't even have the bright blue eyes from when I was a kid. When I was fifteen they grew into a grey, but it wasn't a natural grey, but like the color had been sucked out and ice was left in its place. Solid black surrounded the ice. Depending on how I felt my eyes would darken or lighten. It was spooky and the way that people treated me I expected them to burn me at the stake for witch craft, but my sister took it in stride, she always loved my eyes.

Some days it was almost the blue from when I was a kid. They had been cold ever since Cake left. Mood eyes, was what she called them, that was probably why the towns people avoided me like a plague. Mood eyes were not normal eyes.

My ratty sneakers followed the worn path to the rail train. I hopped onto the train. It was free, but was one of the rattiest ones in the still came down here. It had no roof or walls, just a platform that zoomed through the city at seventy miles per hour. Sitting or lying on your stomach was the only option to stay aboard.

The ride to up took little over half an hour. I had to take several different rail cars to get up there. But in the end it was worth it, it always was. I stepped off the last rail car, still a low grade one but there were walls. Benches lined the outside and a few handles hung from the ceiling. It was an improvement from the one at the Nether.

The train stopped suddenly no hiss or screech but a smooth stop, nothing hinted to its power source, it was silent. I hopped off and was engulfed in the rich Yorker lifestyle.

The York Housing Unit or the NHU was beautiful, unlike the shanties that littered around the scrap pile, these were mansions, I had excited off the housing branch and I could barely see the beginning of up city over the mansion. The mansions were tucked close together, not as compact as the buildings in the city but still close, population was an issue.

I started down the street, it was early on Saturday morning, I was certain that most of the people were sleeping off hangovers. I knew all the party routines, all the scheduled parties and dances, whatever was going on.

The person I was here to see though was the queen of this kind of stuff; she had been a client a while back, almost a year now. She had been a good friend back when my eyes were blue.

I jogged past the first few houses; the air still contained that smog feel that was so strong in the city and even stronger in the scrap pile. Even up here the smoke hung low and clogged your lungs, I didn't think I'd ever breathed in fresh air, just reused air and industrial smoke that was thinned with oxygen.

Here was the closest I would ever get to fresh air. No one left this city unless you were a big three.

I pushed open the gate of one of the houses, it was silent and in the quiet morning it felt threatening, I glanced over my shoulder, I saw a fleeting shadow.

Something was up; I glanced back again, before scurrying up the cement lawn. Everything was cement. I hated it so much. I had only seen grass and flowers in magazines, the occasional fake plant posted in a building. I ached to feel grass underfoot, to drink water that didn't scratch up my throat.

This cement jungle gym was my life; the people in it were my obligation, well most anyway.

I twisted the door handle only to find it was locked, real helpful. Digging into my pocket I took out my everything key, a fancy little thing that conformed into the key shape of every lock, giving me access to everything with a key slot. When I brought it home one day Cake gave it a look but she never asked and I never explained how I got my grubby fingers on the little treasure.

I closed the door behind me and walked into the room, it was beautiful like everything else was, a grand staircase seven steps from me was covered in a velvet red rug, I knew if I turned I would see the parlor, filled with extravagant furniture, most everything was for bragging rights.

A contest of who has better. And for who she was married to, it was all the more important to show off. I heard a flurry of heel steps. I looked up and smiled at my friend, my smile however was not returned. Her face was grim, so unlike her to have a frown, to be serious.

"What's the matter L.S.P?" my face pulled into a frown and I felt a little worried. Lauren Stephanie Peirce or L.S.P was not one to act like this, she was a gossip, loud and ready to spill whatever secret she got her paws on.

But she never acted like this. She never shifted her weight from foot to foot, and her round face never was pinched in worry.

"I was just about to call you, or go down there and I just I know I'm not supposed to go down there but I just really thought that it would be best if I was there and I just it's just like..."

"LSP, spit it out." I snapped, cutting off her babbling

"It's your sister, Fionna," I noticed how she said my full name, her voice cracked a little. "He got her."

I felt the blood rush from my face.


End file.
